


Honey, We're Out of Our Minds

by Aewin



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, M/M, Unrequited Crush, Violent Sex, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aewin/pseuds/Aewin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The good thing about a small dose of mind honey is that it turns pain into pleasure. It's therapeutic, in a way—you can beat the frustration out of each other and get off at the same time, then walk away functional at the end of the weekend.</p>
<p>The bad thing about a small dose of mind honey is that it can't add meaning to a casual fuck. You do, unfortunately, still have to walk away at the end of the weekend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey, We're Out of Our Minds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doxian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doxian/gifts).



> HSWC Bonus Round 4 fill for Doxian based on the following [playlist/prompt](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/8507.html?thread=2060347#cmt2060347):
>
>> Karkat/Sollux--  
> Torture Me - Metric  
> Kiss with a Fist - Florence + The Machine  
> Your Honour - Regina Spektor  
> Flathead - The Fratellis

Blood drips down your face as you knock on Karkat’s door. Fucking _seadwellers_ , always sticking their noses where they don’t belong. It’s a good way to get them _broken_ , as was the case today. You snigger at the memory, but stop abruptly when you realize it just worsens the flow of blood from your nose. Eh, it's not broken. You'll live. 

The door slams open and bounces off the wall, nearly hitting you on both the initial fling and the rebound. Karkat, however, just sort of stands there like a brick wall and takes it when the door hits him, letting physics open it partway again for his convenience.

“Sollux.” Oh shit, there’s _the voice_. “Fucking. _Captor_. You show up late and don’t even bother to use your expensive, had-to-have portable husktop to let me fucking know? What the hell were you—oh.”

Oh, indeed. “Piss off, I just fell down on the way here. There was this huge pothole—”

“Save it,” he snaps. “You fly to get here, there was no fucking pothole. Get in, you miserable assbag.” He leads you into his nutrition block and waves you towards a chair as he pulls out his first-aid kid. He looks you over for a moment before going to work. “So what was the problem in _actuality_ , as in _real life_ , as in _not lying out of your taintchafing fucksphincter_?”

“I got in a fight, all right?” You mumble, hoping he won’t catch it. Or maybe that it will irritate him less if you say it softer. Fuck if you know why you do half the shit you do around KK any more. Actually, you know exactly why you do it all, but it’s best not to dwell on that or you’ll ruin a perfectly good night. You force yourself to seem normal and unaffected, like you haven’t been for sweeps where he’s concerned.

He stares at you for another brief moment, then jams a small towel at you. “Lean forward, you’re a fucking mess. Your shirt is ruined.”

Too easy. “I could always just—ehehe—take it off, considering that’s what I’m here for?” His hand pushes heavily at your back until you’re leaning forward, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“There will be no removal of anything of any kind—with the exception of blood from your inglorious stinknozzle, for the sole fact that you quite literally cannot control it—until I hear what this is about.”

You shrug. “I got in a fight. Happens all the time in the bit of town closest to your hive.”

“And?”

“…and it was a seadweller?”

“Better. You’re still hiding something. I can smell it on you, Captor, with my perfectly intact, functional scentwhiffer. It _stays_ intact, by the way, because I don’t agitate nobility. You’re such a nooklicker sometimes, fuck.”

Another opening. “It might be kind of hard what with my apparently _grievous_ injury and all, but sure, I’ll give nooklicking a go. Pants off, chop chop. Moonlight’s wasting as we recline in regretful chastity.”

He doesn’t react at all for a moment, and then his hands move in a blur and his claws sink a half-inch into your thigh. You cry out in pain, but he only digs them in further as he hisses at you. “This is the last fucking time you’re going to fight over me, okay? We are not in a quadrant. We are not going to _be_ in a quadrant. If we _were_ in a quadrant it would be black, and you’d realize that I’m able to defend my own fucking self. There is zero reason for you to fight for my honor, because it doesn’t _change_ the fact that I’m a mutant, just like it doesn’t _change_ the fact that they’re always going to loathe me for it despite my pardon.” He pulls at the claws, widening the slits in your leg. “And I _really_ don’t fucking like it when someone else gets to you first. I want you pristine and wriggling-day perfect before I tear you down and break you apart. Got it?”

His claws dig deeper. “ _Shit_ , KK, _yes_ I’ve got it, you can stop any fucking time now.”

You swallow. He knows just how to get under your skin, both literally and figuratively. You’d love to have him as your spade, but half the time you pity the fuck too, so you’ll never say a word. It’s almost a twisted moirallegiance you have going here anyways, and it’s better to just leave things like this so you don’t lose what you _do_ have with him. For one, you’d have to find another concupiscent partner before the next drone season if you drove him off. And two—well, it’s _really fucking nice_ to be able to work all of this frustration out, all the rage you have at clients and the world and yourself. It’s just a bonus that it feels so fucking amazing while you’re doing it, and both a blessing and a curse that it’s with the only person you’ve got quadranted feelings for right now.

Karkat bares his teeth in a grin. “Did you get the goods?”

You scramble in your pocket, eager to put the honey to work and dull this stabbing, stinging ache. KK plucks the vial from your hand and holds it up to the light, squinting in assessment. God, it’s nice to have those claws out of you. If you could only get the honey—and him— _in_ you, it wouldn’t make a fucking difference.

“GZ said it was a good batch, can we just drip the shit already?” You unfold your glasses and leave them on the table. No way in hell are you leaving them on—you’ve lost enough pairs to this shit to know better by now.

“Yeah, well. Gamzee also uses sopor, and even _you’re_ not fucking stupid enough to do that. But it looks clear enough, we’re probably good to go.”

He paps you on the side of the face—you _shiver_ , why do you _shiver_ at a fucking pap?—then twists the top off the vial and dips a finger in. You’re such a freak for getting turned on by a pap—you’re probably going to start _drooling_ if he drags this out any longer. The anticipatory hum in your blood has you hyped and ready to go, shaking in anticipation. He holds the vial out for you to dip into, and pops the cap back on with one hand when you’re done, constantly rolling his fingers so the honey doesn’t drip to the floor. When he’s satisfied that the cap is on firmly he tosses it unceremoniously behind him—it lands on the counter with a glassy ring that makes you wince, thank fuck you use thick vials—and jabs his fingers at your mouth with even less care. They hit your teeth briefly as you open up for him, and you thrust your fingers into his mouth as he starts to work the small bit of honey into your gums.

It’s almost sickly-sweet, light and airy and sticky all at once, but there’s the barest hint of a bitter tang as you suck the remainder from him. For all its bizarre taste you’d have it every day if you could, but hell if you could afford it, and that would be far too much for a psionic to ingest regardless. As it is, the glob that you rub into his mouth is bigger than your own so he gets roughly the same buzz you do. He moans around you and flutters his eyelids as his cheeks darken with the characteristic blush of a user, and _fuck_ , you hate his face, you hate that you hate his face, you hate that hating his face makes your belly flop and your breath quicken from more than just the honey.

You hate it so much that you can’t stand this any more; you’re ready to let go, ready to take out your anger on each other and have every fucking claw mark pulsing with pleasure and the slight underpinning of pain. The cuts on your thigh are already starting to throb and thrill you, and you can’t wait any fucking _longer_ for this now, he’s had plenty of time for his to start working too. You draw a deep breath through your still-fucked nose, and bite down as hard as you can, pulling your fingers out of his mouth so he can’t reciprocate. KK jumps and moans, trying to extricate his finger, and you rake your claws down his chest, leaving ragged rips in the fabric and slowly-oozing lines of mutant blood in their wake.

“It is so fucking _on_ , you globefondling douchebag.” He launches himself at you despite the finger in your mouth, and you topple over the side of the chair together. Your head hits the floor and bounces, most of the pain shooting straight to your bulge. The impact is disorienting enough that you release his finger, and when Karkat seizes your throat with his teeth your bulges slip most of the way out from the surge of pleasure, sweet-hot and spreading across your torso. You rut up into him unthinking and he grinds back, his hips snapping against yours as he starts to suck at your stinging neck.

But you have to fight him, as good as it feels; giving up is not part of the deal with your fucked-up relationship. There’s a brief stretch where you stupidly try to push him off, but he’s too much stronger than you after his stint in the military, so you settle for ripping him away from your neck with psionics and flinging him into the cabinets across the block. There’s a heavy thud when he hits, and a clatter as something inside the cabinets falls. Your psi is already licking at your body with little tongues of fire, scorching your clothing and running slightly out of control, so you redirect it to him as you approach. It’s terrifying and phenomenal to be this open and unconstrained, that he trusts you to do this. He even seems to _like_ it; when you shove him back down with it he groans and arches into it, licking your blood from his lips.

A mental squeeze at the psionics and his clothing is peppered with small holes, spreading and burning in intricate patterns until the entire thing is consumed. His flesh is dark and raw, starting to flake off like he’s baked in the morning sun and slept just enough that the worst has faded. You grin and lean in, seizing his lip and biting until his blood mingles with yours. He licks his way into your mouth and you share the cocktail of violence and lust; you drink each other down and open more wounds, each one a font of pleasure and pain. The honey has kicked in completely now, and even the worst of your injuries is nothing but an itching beneath your skin, pulsing and driving you mad with need.

There’s a sharp _thunk_ beside you, and you glimpse Karkat’s elbow against the cabinet before a heavy nutrition plateau falls from the counter above and breaks over your head. You instinctively cringe as the remnants fall to the tiled floor, and KK flips your positions, pressing your back harshly against the glass shards. They cut into you from ass to neck, and it’s completely infuriating that they’re so _random_ , so _asymmetrical_ and ugly in their scattered not-patterns. You’re hit with a fresh surge of anger, but KK’s fist collides with your face before you can do anything about it. The honey will dull pain but it does nothing for disorientation, can’t quiet the way the room is blurry and spinning around you as his teeth sink into the soft flesh of your belly.

He drags your pants off with a growl as you fight to sit up, and he clocks you again, a glancing uppercut that makes your teeth clack as your head snaps back sharply. You actually slide back an inch or so on the floor, and glass embeds itself into you so deeply that you actually start to feel it as pain.

You groan. “Holy fuck, KK, can we not with the glass?”

He laughs, taunting you, and mops the blood from his face with an arm as he stands up. “What’s the matter, can’t handle it when it gets real?”

A growl rumbles from your throat and you start to get up, but his foot connects with your stomach and you wheeze for breath. Screw this shit, your bulges are out and as amazing as most of the pain feels it’s probably _not_ a great idea to get glass embedded in them—or worse, shoved up your nook. Even the thought makes you shudder, so you crawl from the recreation block while KK divests himself of pants. You rip the tatters of your shirt off as you go, shivering as the action pulls shards of glass from your back. You’re barely onto the carpet before he lands on you heavily, making both of you grunt, and rolls you over underneath him. Thank fuck most of the slivers came out with your shirt. His bulge begins to seek out your nook, slipping lower and leaving a trail of sticky red behind, but as much as you like getting stuffed, today is _not_ the day for that—not with your ass and back full of shards—so it’s time to use your trump card.

It’s hard to focus on your psionics with the fresh honey-buzz and KK gnawing at your neck like a rabid barkbeast, but you force yourself to gather up the prickles that are ghosting over you both, and then you focus on _up_. It’s too fast for KK to react before he’s slammed against the ceiling with a crack, and suddenly _you’re_ the one with the power here. It’s a bit bizarre—even for you—to have someone pinned to the ceiling, but fuck if it isn’t sweet to sink _your_ teeth into _his_ neck and draw moans from _him_.

“Ff—shit—Sollux, you fucking—nngh—” He flails, cursing between moans and feral rutting. You pick at a patch of flaky skin on his torso, sniggering at his attempts to regain control.

“What’s the matter, KK? Can’t handle it when it gets _real_?” He _screams_ in frustration, then presses a large, jagged piece of glass to your throat and snarls. A stinging line opens up, and you slap his hand away with power as it begins to bleed.

“Put me down, this isn’t fair and you know it—” He cuts at your face this time, and comes dangerously close to an eye. You sort of _need_ those things, goddamn it. The agreement is _no permanent damage_ , and as much as mind honey speeds healing, you don’t think you’ll be regrowing an eye any time soon, so you give him what he wants—you float off of him and let the psychic supports dissipate. He drops the makeshift knife and shrieks as he falls, but manages to roll a bit to soften the landing. Still, he’s out of breath, and it gives you all the time you need to descend and pin him against the floor. Your bulges wriggle against his ass as he struggles beneath you, and fuck if the desperate way he tenses under you isn’t just the hottest thing you’ve seen all perigee. Rolling your hips against him harshly prompts a choked-off moan, and you can feel it when he stops resisting and starts _needing_. He rolls back against you, undulating and moaning, but you can’t give it up this easily.

You lean up and bite hard at his ear, earning you a full-on whimper. “So, KK. Tell me what you want, and maybe I’ll give it to you.”

“Fuck you, you shitlicking lispmachine.”

“Too easy, KK. Try again.”

He groans and falls silent, but doesn’t stop pushing his ass up into you. Your bulges slither between the cheeks, and you’re struck with a horrible, _horrible_ idea.

“Sh— _fine_ , _fuck_ _me,_ is that what you want to hear?”

“Much better.” You’re purring with anticipation, and you waste no time pulling him onto his knees with psionics and spreading him wide. His thighs are painted with blood and material, red and yellow and occasional dappled patches of orange, and you can’t resist licking a hot, wet stripe up his nook. He straight-up _sobs_ at that as you lick the salt-slick taste from your shredded lips. You lean over him again and fist a hand in his hair, shoving his face to the floor and letting your bulges slide against him without entering. He mumbles something that you can’t quite hear.

“What was that, KK?”

“I said _please_ , for the love of—nngh, _anything_ , put your fucking bulges in me and _pail_ me already or I am _never_ going to let you do this again.”

Fair enough. The flared tip of your bottom bulge slips easily into his nook and he cries out as you press inside of him. You flex a few times to loosen him up, then line the tip of your other bulge up with the tight entrance to his waste chute, prodding at it to see if this is even remotely feasible. He yelps when the dripping-wet head breaches him, and you can tell from his quivering movements that he’s mentally struggling to decide what he wants. You let yourself slide in another inch, slow and smooth, and _fuck_ this is tight, hotter than his nook and viselike around you. He whines, and you stop. You have no clue how much this hurts, if it’s getting past the honey or not, and you don’t want to be an utter dick about this because as violent as this is, you don’t want to tear anything vital.

He pushes back against you with a groan. “Fuck, _harder_ , you immoral ingrate.”

It makes you laugh. Who knew he’d _like_ it? He holds his breath until you’re buried completely, and lets out a shaky breath when you flex in him again. The sluggishly-oozing claw marks on your thighs smear across him and it’s the _weirdest_ feeling, being inside two vastly different holes at once, but you can’t say it’s an unwelcome sensation. Judging by the noises he makes when you start rocking against him, you might have to try it for yourself sometime.

You know you won’t last long now that it’s come to this. You never do, at this point—the pent-up need coursing through your veins is a fierce mistress, and your psionics are sparking out of control and skittering over your bodies in lashing lines of fire, hitting every nerve and making them sing with saccharine honey-buzz. It’s too much to withstand for long. The bonds are gone now, lost to the fog in your brain, but KK either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He mutters obscenities like he’s begging with them, presses back against you and shouts for you to just come, to fuck him harder, to make him feel good.

His hand snakes down to grab his bulge. He freezes for a single moment , then shoves you off of him. You start to protest because you’re _almost there_ , it’s not fucking fair if he gets off and you don’t—but then you realize that he _hasn’t_ gotten off yet because he’s on you like a hurricane, shoving into you gracelessly and mashing your mouths together like his survival depends upon it.

It’s a whirlwind—tongues fighting to press further inside each other, claws raking furrows down backs and sides, hands hefting your legs up and bruising them as he drives into you viciously. Blood and material drip down you both, a nectar as sweet as the honey on your tongue, and he slaps your hand away from your bulges. He screams raw and hoarse, sobbing as he floods you with heat and drives you out of your mind with need. Fuck, you need to come _now._ You shift so that it’s _your_ claws at _his_ hips, and position him over you so that you can thrust your way back into both holes and mark him as yours. His flushed face lights up with an _ahh_ as you thrash inside of him, and you come while taking in that too-satisfying look of ecstasy. He kisses you slowly as mingled material drips sticky and tepid between your thighs, and you’re reminded that you’re a horrible friend for wanting more than this amazing arrangement that you’re lucky to have in the first place.

You know how this goes from here. He’ll shove you away in a moment and you’ll take ablutions together, then patch each other up in a pseudo-pale manner and clean up anything that’s broken. The honey will wear off just as you drift to sleep, and when you wake up tomorrow evening you will hurt like you’ve been beaten by a drone and stung by a thousand bees. You’ll limp around his hive for the rest of the weekend, bitching incessantly at each other, and go back to your normal, boring lives when it’s over—and as usual, he won’t realize that for you, that means wishing this was more than just a casual fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a [bonus blurb](http://solluxisms.tumblr.com/post/65825429360/honey-were-out-of-our-minds-extra) from Karkat's POV over on my blog, for anyone who's interested :)


End file.
